


See It In My Eyes

by rory_the_dragon



Series: Miles And Miles [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Ambiguously Underage, Established Relationship, Henry Pov, Library Sex, M/M, Non-Fairytale AU, Semi-Public Sex, The Lost Boys Are A Gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1337905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is so absolutely unlike anyone Henry’s ever known. He’s like a storybook character who wandered out of the pages. He’s sharp grins and sharper edges, a hungry mouth and burning eyes that set Henry alight. And he’s also soft touches and warmth pressed against Henry, smiling into his neck. He’s never what Henry expects and Henry's completely in love with him.</p>
<p>Henry's in love with him.</p>
<p>(Or: the one after the dinner with Emma.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	See It In My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set in the Miles and Miles universe; An all human, no fairytale universe which still takes place in Storybrooke. The Lost Boys are a gang. Peter and Henry are in an established relationship. Wendy/Felix is also an established background relationship. Also Belle/Gold as of this one.
> 
> Set between Where To Go and Early Morning Sun. Like, just between.
> 
> Henry is 17 and Peter is 21.

 

"You okay there, kiddo?"

Henry starts, looks up to soft fingers brushing his hair away from his eyes, and Belle’s kind but concerned smile catching him, pulling him out of the spiral of thoughts that have been cartwheeling around his head since last night, that he fell into again about five minutes ago.

Or five hours, he’s not entirely sure.

“Fine,” He says, too quick, too high, and Belle’s look of concern deepens as she frowns. He coughs. “Sorry, I-“ The books in his hands slip a little as he stammers, hands jittering. “I’ll get back to work, I’m sorry.”

“ _Henry_ ,” Belle’s hand settles gentle on his arm, stopping him from escaping further into the stacks in embarrassment. “Slow down. You’ve been spaced all day, kiddo, that’s not like you. Talk to me.”

She smiles at him, open and caring through the concern, and her hand rubs his arm in easy comfort. That’s the thing about Belle; She’s _good_ , never anything behind her actions. Just Belle and her big heart.

It’s something Henry really, _really_ , needs right now. A listening ear and a neutral party.

He slumps, biting down on his bottom lip even as the tension drains out of him under Belle’s touch. “It’s…” He starts, stops, then starts again. “Peter came to dinner last night.”

“Ah.” Belle nods, and even if it’s understanding, it’s also unsurprised, confirming what he’d been trying not to think about being true.

That the entire town knows about him and Peter now.

Henry’s not _ashamed_ of Peter, the way he knows Peter thinks he should be, not embarrassed or, _god_ , anything even like that. He’d walk proudly down Main Street holding Peter’s hand if he didn’t know that Peter would never allow that weakness to be shown in public.

It’s just. This thing with Peter, for all of how deeply Henry knows he’s fallen, for how much time he spends with Peter, or how much they do, it’s still relatively _new_. And Henry knows the way this town, this mad town that he loves so much, cares for the people it loves. They’re protective and brash, and Henry’s not totally convinced there isn’t a party forming that’s out for Peter’s head.

It’s sweet, sometimes, and it’s been this way since he was eleven. The town looks after their own.

But Henry’s not eleven anymore. He doesn’t need protecting the way they all think he does, and he certainly doesn’t need protecting from Peter.

Henry knows Peter’s reputation, alright, knew it before he even started dating him, and some of it’s earned. But Peter’s more than the whispers about him, more than the shadowy figure from the Wrong side of town who runs the feared Lost Boys gang. He’s more than that. Henry knows it, sees it every time Peter looks at him, tastes it in every kiss, feels it when Peter holds onto him, tight, like Henry’s _everything_.

He doesn’t need protecting from Peter.

Henry expects some kind of question from Belle, at least. She’s easily just as curious as Henry is himself, and in this kind of situation, if he weren’t part of it, Henry’d have a dozen questions for himself. He _had_ a dozen questions for himself, right back when it all started, before he _knew_. And he’d seen it in Belle’s eyes when he turned up for work earlier, seen that curiosity. But she’d remained quiet.

Now he’s brought it up, and he expects something.

But Belle just nods, takes the books out of his hands and balances them on a nearby shelf, the shelf Henry’s been staring at blindly for god knows how long. Henry lets them go easily, and when Belle tucks him under her arm and leads him towards one of the library tables, he falls into her embrace. She smells of fresh soap and the mustiness of her books, as if the library’s claimed her for its own.

Henry gets it sometimes, in his fingertips, after his shifts.

It’s a nice job, working for Belle after school. The library’s quiet, for the most part, and he gets to spend a lot of time reading when he’s finished the soothing routines of organising and labelling the books that Belle orders in every week because she can’t help it, a lover of books in the same way Henry is. Belle’s nice, and fun to talk to, always treats Henry like he’s just as adult as she is.

Belle's also a big believer in tea curing all ails, and she gets Henry a cup of it first before sitting opposite him.

“I take it that it didn’t go well?” She prompts, gentle, when he’s sat there, staring into his mug, for long enough.

Henry laughs, short.

Didn’t go well…

Well, Emma’s hackles had been up as soon as Peter stepped over the threshold of the house, and Peter had turned flinty and standoffish as soon as it became apparent that Emma wasn’t even going to give him an inch. It had been a meal of edged ‘Pan’s and brittle ‘Sheriff’s, filled with unspoken words and long silences, Emma’s pointed questions with Peter’s barbed responses, and had ended before dessert.

He knows Emma and Peter don’t like each other. In his lowest moments he still wonders whether that’d been the whole point of this thing with Peter; Peter trying to get one over on Emma. He knows there’s history there, it’s one large part of why he didn’t _tell_ Emma about Peter, and he knows that it’ll take more than a single dinner to get through any of that.

But the worst about it all, Henry thinks, is that they both _tried_.

When he’s finished, his tea is cold and Belle’s hand is on his. “It’s never easy,” She says, and there’s a note in her voice that Henry can’t fully identify. Angry tears have sprung to his eyes as he spoke, and he wipes at them. “Being in love with someone who your family disapproves of.”

“I don’t-“ The denial is barely out of his lips before Belle cuts him off.

“ _Henry_.” Her voice is gentle. “You brought him _home_.”

Henry shuts up.

Then, "You said that like you know."

Belle smiles and it’s wistful. “I wasn’t as young as you, but, _yes_ , I fell in love with a man my father hated. No one thought he was a good man, not even him, but I saw it.”

Henry takes a sip of his cold tea, before he can hiccup around the sudden lump in his throat.

“A _good_ man,” Belle whispers, to herself, looking lost in something, a thought or maybe a memory, before her eyes come back to Henry. There’s an honesty there that Henry’s not used to seeing from adult eyes. Not looking at him anyway. “He might not have always been a nice man, not to everyone, but he was with me. With me, he was sweet, and loving. And being loved like that gave me strength. Strength that I already had, but he brought it out in me.”

“He’s just…” Henry flounders for the words, even as he knows them sure in his chest, humming. “He’s just so _different_ from everyone else. It’s…”

New. Exciting. Relieving. Heady.

Peter is so absolutely unlike anyone Henry’s ever known. He’s like a storybook character who wandered out of the pages. He’s sharp grins and sharper edges, a hungry mouth and burning eyes that set Henry alight. And he’s also soft touches and warmth pressed against Henry, smiling into his neck. He’s never what Henry expects and Henry's completely in love with him.

Henry's in love with him.

He’s in love with Peter Pan and maybe he shouldn’t be, but he is. He feels sick, something stirring in his stomach, something with wings, and something else pulls at the corner of his mouth. He bites his lip.

_He’s in love with him._

“I suppose it helps that the dangerousness is a little bit sexy," Belle's voice pulls him out of the realisation and he laughs before he can help it, even as he blushes. Belle grins at him, wicked. " _Okay, a lot_."

Henry…can’t imagine that argument going down well with his mom. He knows about Emma’s past, the truth about his father, knows why Emma worries that Henry’s drawn to the same wild and dangerous type that she was, and maybe he is. Maybe that’s what drew him to Peter in the first place.

But that’s not why he stayed.

Not why he fell in love with him.

Fuck, he wishes he’d known about being in love with Peter last night. Maybe it wouldn’t have helped matters in the argument he and Emma had had after Peter had left, Emma’s pleading face and Henry’s angry words, but maybe

Maybe it would have helped her _get it_. Get that Henry’s crazy about Peter, and there are times when Peter looks at him, soft and delighted, that Henry thinks Peter cares just as much about him too.

“Right,” Belle says, pulling him out of his head for the third time in under an hour, and Henry would feel bad about it, he would, only it’s been kind of a stressful day. She doesn’t look bothered by it, though, stands.  “I’m going out for an hour. Feel free to take a break, use the time to your… _advantage_.”

There’s _something_ in her voice that makes Henry blink, meet her eyes, and Belle’s looking at him. Pointed. Waiting.

His eyes widen.

She _can’t_ mean.

Belle grins, winks, and leaves.

_She does._

Henry gapes as the door click shut behind her, Belle’s humming to herself fading away, and

He

_What?_

Because it sounds very much like his pseudo-boss has just given him permission to invite his boyfriend round to his place of work and a window of privacy to do whatever they want in

And, again, _what?_

Belle’s unlike anyone else, and she’s probably mad as a hatter, but right now she’s Henry’s _favourite_ person.

Henry has his phone out instantly, hands stumbling, and he almost drops it, has to retype _You busy?_ three times before he can send it, suddenly pulled tight like a wire begging to be snapped.

Peter’s reply chimes almost immediately, and he jumps. _Just finishing something up. I’ll be there in ten. Library right?_

Henry responds in the affirmative then pushes his phone away before he can talk himself out of it. He’s seventeen. He's not looking this gift horse in the mouth.

He feels nervous. The kind of nervous he hasn't felt since he and Peter first started dating, when he was still convinced this was some game, an elaborate prank at his expense. He knows they’re more. Knows Peter cares about him, knows Peter would never have turned up to dinner if he didn’t…

But Henry’s in love with him, and that realisation is singing in his chest like a second heartbeat, ratcheting up his nerves.

He tries to busy himself with paperwork, can’t stop his foot from bouncing up and down as he tries to keep his mind focused on the returns and fines and _when is Peter going to get here?_ He usually keeps homework under the desk while he’s on his break, because god knows he doesn’t get much done when he’s at home, when Peter climbs the tree outside his window and knocks to be let in, but he can’t focus on it.

_God_ , Peter just makes his head spin. Henry’s never been with anyone before Peter, but he can’t imagine it being like this with anyone else, can’t imagine _him_ being like this with anyone else, this bold.

“If I knew that this was what I was missing out on.” Henry’s head snaps up, and in all the lip-biting, hair-pulling, jittering of his nerves, he’s completely missed Peter coming in, hitching himself up on top the Returns Desk and grinning down at him. “I would have started coming to see you at work before.”

 “I’ve never let you come before,” Henry reminds him, even as Peter leans forward, thumb finding Henry’s bottom lip and resting there.

Peter’s wired, eyes glittering and muscles coiled, and Henry doesn’t know what he was doing before this, but it’s got Peter worked up, even as he hums nonchalantly. “That’s true. Why the change, Mills?”

There’s something edged in his grin, makes it look fake, and Henry recognises that grin. He’s seen it before, before all of this, before Henry started uncovering Peter’s gentle edges and kissing them soft, before Peter started to let himself be uncovered. He still sees it sometimes, when Peter’s in Lost Boy Mode, when he’s pressing back against handcuffs or goading a fight with rivals, hoping for a punch just so he can throw three back.

It’s the smile Peter has when he’s hiding something deeper, hiding something that scares him, and Henry doesn’t know why he’s wearing it now, but he wants to kiss it away. Henry wants to push up and taste his name on Peter’s mouth, can barely breathe right now, with his new realisation thumping in his chest, so he settles for biting down on the thumb Peter still has against his lip.

When he looks up at Peter, Peter’s mouth has formed a quiet O of surprise, eyes darkening.

“I’ve got a break,” He says, and something in Peter seems to coil tight and relax at all the same time.

Relief flickers in Peter’s eyes, but before Henry can question the why, it’s gone, as if it were never there, and Peter’s smile is slow.

“ _Henry Mills_ ,” Peter says, voice low and admonishing, even as he smiles, and Henry feels himself blush at the crawl his name makes over his body, swoops in his stomach. “Is this a booty-call?”

Henry bites down harder on Peter’s thumb, so Peter cries out a little. “Complaining?”

Bold. He feels bold. He feels like he’s flying, with Peter’s gaze on him, burning, burning, _burning_ , him.

Peter doesn’t grace that with an answer, presses down to catch Henry’s mouth, and it’s at an awful angle, Henry still sitting at the desk while Peter perches on top, but Henry doesn’t care, clasps at Peter’s face and lets himself be kissed and kissed and kissed, like Peter’s trying to climb inside of him, claim him from the inside out.

They break apart panting when Peter threatens to overbalance, and it’s still early evening, still the library’s opening hours, so Henry hurries to lock the front door. Peter follows, catches him and presses him back against the door, the windows, and anyone walking by could see them, could see good little boy Henry Mills being kissed, open mouthed and filthy, see Peter holding him against the door with his hips and moving from his mouth to his neck, biting and sucking as he moves down, and Henry hopes someone does, wants everyone to know that Peter is _his_.

Fuck, he’s in love with Peter Pan and he wants to yell it from the roof, settles for hooking his fingers in Peter’s belt loops and pulling him away from the door, deeper into the dim light of the library.

“What brought this on?” Peter asks in between kisses as they walk, hands bracketing Henry’s hips until he has him pushed against a table. Henry hitches himself up onto it, pulls Peter in close with his legs.

Henry’s brave, but he’s not brave enough for the truth yet. “A thank you,” He says, breathes it into Peter’s mouth as Peter smudges him with kisses. “For coming to dinner last night.”

“Last night is hardly deserving of a thank you, Mills,” Peter reminds him, and Henry groans as Peter bites down on his ear lobe, pushes his next words into Henry’s ear, low and almost punched out. “Let alone a quickie in the library.”

“My break’s an hour,” Henry says, hand finding Peter’s hair as he goes back to his neck, scraping down, _down_. “Take your time.”

Peter’s whispered _fuck_ is breathed out across Henry’s throat, and Peter rests his forehead there for a second. “Impossible. You’re fucking impossible, Henry.”

Takes one, Henry thinks, and brings Peter back up to eyelevel, wraps his arms around his neck so he can press close, close, close, kiss his way inside Peter’s mouth, suck on Peter’s tongue because he likes the way it makes Peter’s legs buckle, makes him feel powerful.

“You came,” He says when they break apart again, bats at Peter’s chest when he lifts an eyebrow, smirking. “To dinner. You came, and you stayed. _That’s_ deserving of a thank you.”

For all of his arrogance, his cock-sure confidence, Henry knows Peter doesn’t always think much of himself. Henry doesn’t understand it, Peter’s the most incredible person Henry’s ever met, he’s changed every aspect of Henry’s life, and he wants to make sure Peter knows it, knows every day how worth it he is.

The kiss Peter gifts him with then is sweet, close-mouthed and lingering, and maybe, Henry thinks, Peter’s heard it.

Then Peter’s hands finds his ass, curve underneath and _hitch_ , pulling Henry up around his hips, and the pace picks back up, frantic again, and Henry adjusts to the new angle, wraps his legs tighter around Peter and kisses _down_ rather than up at him.

Peter all but slams Henry into the nearby bookshelf, and Henry might have bruises tomorrow but he’s going to savour every one. A few books fall as Henry gets pushed tighter and tighter against the stacks, and if this particular shelf weren’t against the wall, they’d have fallen over already.

Peter doesn’t always get rough with him, treats Henry like he’s something precious that Peter’s worried he’s going to break. Henry has yet to find a way to tell Peter without blushing that he _likes_ it when Peter marks him up, makes him his, likes it when Peter can’t hold back anymore and throws Henry down, crawls on top of him and pushes him about.

Henry likes pushing back.

“Fuck, do you know what you do to me, Henry?” Peter mutters into Henry’s mouth, and Henry doesn’t, he honestly doesn’t, but he thinks it’s something like what Peter does to him.

In that moment, riding high on Peter against him, on adrenaline, on the certainty that Peter _wants_ him, Henry finds his bravery.

He says the words, three little ones, quiet by Peter’s ear, and they spill out into the library like a crashing wave.

Peter stills instantly, still holding Henry up, mouth at Henry’s jaw, and Henry feels the short, hard puff of air that punches out of him. Henry kisses at Peter’s ear, at the line of his cheek, doesn’t regret saying it.

He thought he’d feel more scared.

Against him, Peter makes a quiet noise, like a cry, and pulls back. Henry doesn’t fully understand the expression on his face, but he’s looking up at Henry like he’s looking for the lie, waiting for the kick, and Henry kisses him, soft. Peter barely responds.

“You don’t have to say it. I just wanted to,” He says, and Peter

Hotly presses into Henry’s mouth and Peter’s kissing him like he’s _dying_ , like Henry’s the last thing on earth, the only thing, and Peter’s mouth is fast, wet, stealing every breath Henry has and

Peter’s shaking.

Henry can feel the tension in Peter’s body, the creased line of his forehead, the slope of his mouth, even as he kisses Henry like air. “Shouldn’t I-“ Henry starts to ask, because he doesn’t regret saying it, but Peter’s reaction is going in about seven different directions at once.

“Henry, shut up,” Peter breathes, pulling back to rest his forehead up against Henry’s. “Please, just let me kiss you, I don’t-“ He cuts himself off to kiss Henry, and it’s not bruising anymore, not desperate and frantic. It’s soft, so soft, and it aches in Henry’s chest, _sings_ , and Henry doesn’t always understand Peter, but he understands this.

“Okay,” He whispers, when the trembling cling of Peter’s lips drags away, only to return in a tiny, gentle kiss, a dozen more. “Okay.”

The more Peter kisses him, the more he gets worked up again, kissing Henry harder and faster, and Henry’s still hitched up against the bookshelf, legs locked around Peter, until suddenly he’s not. He’s not sure how it happened, but Peter has him on the floor, sweeps fallen books aside so press Henry down, hold him there with his hips.

Peter stretches out over him, hovers above him, eyes locked with Henry’s like he’s still searching for something. Henry presses up on his elbows to take Peter’s mouth for his own, moves one hand to Peter’s hair and pulls him in. He says Peter’s name, breathes it into his mouth, and Peter’s kiss is bruising once again, taking everything Henry has.

Henry rolls his hips, once, slow, and when Peter groans, he does it again. He smiles into the kiss, nips at Peter’s mouth, coaxing Peter back to him because he’s still reacting, Henry knows, still splintering somewhere, and Henry’s mostly sure that it’s _good_.

He doesn’t think he’s made a mistake here, handing his heart over to Peter.

Peter’s just still turning it over in his hands.

With Peter off guard, Henry can take the opportunity to use the leverage he has on him to flip them so Peter’s beneath him, looking up at Henry with startled eyes, and Henry dips, kisses him once, then makes his way across his jaw, down his neck, still drawing Peter back, back, back.

His fingers find the gap of skin just above Peter’s jeans, where his shirt’s ridden up, push up further, and Peter snaps back. His hands find Henry’s, stop him, and Peter’s twisting them back, grinning down at him, eyes mad and fucking _joyful_. It catches in Henry’s chest.

“Unfair advantage there, Mills,” Peter purrs, himself again, and Henry laughs when Peter drags teeth down his throat.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” He grins up at the ceiling, heart so, so full in his chest.

“Cheating,” Peter nods, and his hands move to Henry’s shirt buttons. Peter mouths his way down every inch that Henry has, breath hot and panting, over and over, as he moves down, bites at Henry’s hips. “Absolutely cheating.”

“Whatever you say,” Henry tries to get out but the last word breaks and cracks on a high whine as Peter makes quick work of his jeans, mouths wetly at where he’s hard in his short.

Henry’d been half hard since _texting_ Peter, hard as soon as Peter got his mouth on him. Every inch of him is crying out for Peter to. touch. him. _god._

He’s saying it all out loud, babbling, as lost beneath Peter’s touch as ever, and he feels Peter smile against him. It’d normally be a smirk, he knows, but there’s a softness there that has Henry keening.

“Running out of time,” Henry gasps when Peter starts nosing at him, taking his time, taking Henry apart like Henry just did him, and doesn’t Peter get it? Henry’s always coming apart under Peter, every time he’s near him.

Peter rushes back up to kiss him, like he can’t be doing anything else, and Henry’s hands move to Peter’s jeans as he kisses back, lets Peter lick inside his mouth, hums happily around his tongue, happier when he gets the snap of Peter’s jeans open, pushes them sloppily down.

They’re barely undressed, Henry’s shirt open, Peter’s rucked up, pants clinging to the backs of their thighs and they’re still wearing their underwear, but it’s perfect, it’s everything, and when Henry shifts his hips up once again, only the slight barrier of two sets of cotton between them, they don’t break eye contact.

The shudders running through them are almost negligible, compared to what passes silently between them in that moment, green eyes to brown, and Henry’s chest swells with the look in Peter’s eyes as he watches him, like Henry’s got a universe inside of him.

Peter’s slow as he moves, keeps Henry’s gaze as he hooks his thumbs into Henry’s shorts, drags them down, and the cool kiss of air over his cock makes Henry shiver, just for a second, before it’s pushed away by Peter’s body head, the loose circle of his fingers as he strokes Henry, just once.

Henry can hear his heartbeat in his ears, roaring.

Henry beats Peter to his underwear, pulls them down over Peter’s ass and tugs Peter towards him with his hands, and the noise Peter makes as they slide together, slick with pre-come, is only drowned out by the sound Henry makes, high and needy and _Peter_.

They’re fucking on the floor of the Storybrooke Public Library and Henry doesn’t know how long it’s going to take him to come to work again without blushing, how long it’ll take for him to look Belle in the eye again, but he

Doesn’t _care._

He can feel his orgasm racing towards him, cresting on a wave as they move against each other, and Peter pushes something into his mouth, quiet and desperate, “Henry, I-“ It chokes off on a gasp, voice rolling out of him in shudders, and Peter kisses at Henry’s mouth as he comes, quiet, shuddering, between them.

Henry’s still hurtling towards the cliff-face, hips shifting mindlessly against Peter, and it’s generous to call the panting he does into Peter’s mouth a kiss, but it’s wet and slick and Peter bites gently at his lips, and that’s all it takes for him to shout, come in a sun-star flare of heat and sparks behind his eye lids as he clutches at Peter’s shoulders, holding on.

“Fuck,” Peter mutters, and rolls off Henry, lying beside him so they’re both staring up at the ceiling, slightly dazed, and Henry doesn’t even want to _think_ about what they look like right now. Come-sticky and surrounded by fallen books, and Henry still can’t stop smiling.

He nudges closer to Peter and Peter instantly moves to put an arm around him, pulls him closer. “You are so helping me tidy up,” Henry tells him, and Peter laughs, mouths sloppily at the curve of Henry’s cheek.

He sounds just as fucked out as Henry feels when he speaks. “It’s your job, love.” He takes the elbow Henry digs into him, grins.

His grin is wide enough that it hurts, even lazy and fucked out, and Peter’s _happy_.

Henry did that.

“Do you…?” Peter’s voice is a whisper, eyes closed even as he noses at Henry’s hair. “Did you…?”

“Mean it?” Henry finishes when it becomes obvious that Peter’s not going to finish. He kisses at the skin of Peter’s shoulder, where his shirt doesn’t quite cover. “Yes.”

Peter’s next breath shudders out of him, and his hand finds Henrys, fingers lacing together. Henry lets him pull their hands up to his mouth, smiles soft as Peter litters the back of his hand with dozens of butterfly kisses.

“I mean, I had some help figuring it out,” Henry says, and Peter cracks open one eye, raises an eyebrow, amused.

“Oh?”

“Belle’s a really good listener.”

“Talking about me behind my back, are we, Mills?”

Henry grins, presses up to kiss at the corner of Peter’s mouth. “Just a little.”

“How mind-numbingly attractive I am? How you can barely look at me without wanting to go to your knees? You can tell me, you know, I can take it.” Peter laughs as Henry shoves at him, and they’re a mess of laughter and unspoken words, but Henry’s _happy_. He’s so unbearably happy right now that he thinks he could burst at the seams.

“ _No_ ,” He says, settling his head back down onto Peter’s chest. They’ve still got a while before Belle’s back, Henry’s going to let them be lazy for a little while longer. He also doesn’t fully trust his legs right now. “Apparently she’s been in the same situation.” At Peter’s questioning silence, he elaborates, “Being in love with a guy nobody approves of.”

Once he’s said it now, he can’t seem to stop. It spills out of him with every breath.

“Belle…” Peter rolls the name around in his mouth. “Belle French?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“She’s Gold’s girl.”

Henry blinks. He doesn’t know much of Gold, one of Peter’s business partners, just knows that he owns the half of the town that Peter doesn’t run, and that Peter trusts the man about as much as he can throw him.

Henry gets it now, why Belle was so understanding.

“Maybe I’ll have to bring you along to the next meeting I have with Gold,” Peter mutters, and he’s joking, Peter would never let Henry anywhere _near_ his under-table dealings. Peter doesn’t like Henry to see that side of him, not really. “She’s there sometimes. Always quiet. Might shake him up a bit, seeing you two together.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I don’t think you’ll be able to claim a high ground with Belle,” He informs him. “Not when she’s essentially relationship counselled us.”

“Never underestimate the ways in which I can find a high ground, Mills.”

They lie there for a while, the cold of the floor seeping into their bodies, talking idly, Peter still playing absently with Henry's hands, trading soft touches and gentle kisses that aren't leading anywhere, just nice and loving, and Henry's so happy it hurts to breathe. Once they’ve lain there long enough, and Henry’s starting to get sticky, they pull apart and start clearing up. Henry finds a clean duster cloth in the back room and Peter uses it to wipe them both down, does it slowly enough that Henry’s groans, has to push him off before he tries to start anything again. Henry shoves it into his bag, doesn’t want Belle to find it. Ever.

They’re still clearing up the books that fell when Belle gets back, Peter reaching around Henry to slide the books back, pressing against Henry’s back and biting his ear again, and Henry blushes as Belle coughs, announcing her presence.

“Boys,” She greets them, and Peter pulls back.

“Miss French,” He nods, polite and smirking, and Henry rolls his eyes. “So nice to see you again.”

“And under nicer circumstances, too,” Belle agrees, eyes just as mischievous as Peter’s, and it’s got to be something in Henry that draws him to these kind of people.

“I’ll walk you out,” He tells Peter, before this can get any more out of hand, and they step out of the library into the early evening light.

Henry can see Ruby down the street, changing something on the Granny’s Diner sign, see Leroy and his friends heading towards happy hour, see Dr Hopper by his offices. He presses up on his toes and kisses Peter, hands at his neck, and Peter bends to catch him, smiles against him and wraps his arms around Henry’s back.

It spins Henry’s head, and he’s certain that when they break apart, they’re being watched, but he doesn’t care, not when Peter rests his forehead against his and breathes him in.

“Come to mine tonight?” He asks, kissing once more at Henry, quick. “Stay over?”

There’s a weight to Peter’s words, to the breath he releases after that, and it pushes through Henry’s chest, expands, beats its own heartbeat there.

“I’d like that,” Henry nods, and with a smile, one last kiss, Peter goes.

Henry watches him leave, and goes back inside.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know, it's been 2 months since the last one, so if you guys are still here, I'm sorry and hope this measured up. All feedback is appreciated!


End file.
